


i gave you the messiest head (you give me the messiest head)

by ohmygodfoxtrot



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22659700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygodfoxtrot/pseuds/ohmygodfoxtrot
Summary: Kent Parson, legally non-existent, bat shit crazy, fan of quick infiltrations and slow acting poisons, not a fan of being babysat on jobs.Eric Bittle, legally non-existent, highly trained, fan of scaling walls and execution style head shots, not a fan of babysitting on jobs.Jack Zimmermann, legally existent, growing tired of his job, fan of closing cases and hoping this would have made his father proud, not a fan of learning two world-class assassin's have taken up crime world residence right under his nose.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	i gave you the messiest head (you give me the messiest head)

This isn’t the police station.

He knows that, logically; he wasn't familiar with the supposed officers who grabbed him while he was sitting at the bottom of a stairwell, they didn't read him his rights, they drove past the station and then some, and when they got to whatever room in whatever facility this is, he was uncuffed. 

But he’s got nothing better going on, so he sits in this drab room with a table and three chairs and some ugly fluorescent lights that they’ve put him in and waits.

They’re in pretty soon. They’re dressed nice, definitely not public servants, a man and a woman. The woman, with a sharp blonde bob, round face with defined features, the edge of a tattoo peeking out of her blouse near the collarbone, smacks a file down on the table, with his name on the tab. 

“Gotten thicker since I last saw it.” He can't help but snark. He glances at the man, notices his red hair, his undercut, the stubble on his strong jawline, the way his arms are crossed as he stands on the other side of the table.

“When was the last time you saw it?” She turns, ambles over to the wall to lean on it.

“Two weeks ago.” That police station interrogation room after the fist fight.

“Two weeks ago, you hadn’t murdered anyone.” She seems not very hung up on that, like a dead man means nothing to her.

He shrugs. “Fair enough. Didn’t take you that long to put it together.”

“This isn’t the file you saw last time.”

He plays dumb. “The police keep two files on everyone?”

“The police track crimes. We track… more than that.”

The man, who hasn’t spoken yet, steps closer to the table and pushes the cream folder further across. He grins up at him, flips the file open. 

The first thing he sees is what must be his kindergarten school picture. 

His cool breaks for the first time all day. “My mom didn’t even order copies of this. Where’d you get it?”

The woman shrugs. “Wasn’t that hard.”

He knows that’s not an answer, but if these people can get a seventeen year old photo of him, they’re not gonna listen to his questions. The man sits down in the chair across from him, speaks for the first time.

“Why'd you do it?”

“Do what?” 

The man rolls his eyes. “Get mac and cheese at the cafeteria for lunch today. No, stab a guy thirteen times on the quad. Broad fucking daylight. Four witnesses. A few weeks out from graduating.” 

He huffs, leans back in his chair. “You've got a picture of me when I was five years old and you can't figure out why I killed that guy? C’mon.” 

“We want to hear it from you.”

He glances away from the man at the table, towards the woman who's still leaning in the corner. “Bitch couldn't keep his hands to himself.” 

“Didn't like a guy getting all up on you?” 

He reverts his gaze to the man, turns up the sleaze. “I have no problems with guys getting  _ all up on me.  _ I can demonstrate how little I have a problem with it if you'd like. Just didn't like this one.”

The man looks satisfied, but not with himself. More like he said the right thing, passed a test. 

“We'd like.. to make you an offer.” It's the woman again. She approaches the table. “Your… unique personality could be an asset to us.” 

“I know I've got a killer smile, but last time I checked, the law frowns on that being a reason to reduce jail time.” 

She smiles. “Not reduce. Eliminate.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “The law definitely frowns on that.” 

“We are outside the boundaries of the law right now.”

He waits. He kind of already knew that, but it's nice to hear it confirmed.

“How did it feel?” The man again.

He doesn't bother playing dumb this time. He shrugs. “Maybe he finally understands the slippery slope that is people doing things to your body without your consent. Felt good to teach him a lesson.”

Again, that expression like he's passed a test. The man turns towards the woman and nods. She smiles.

“You need to make a decision right now. We've got a dead body just like your living one, ready to have it's face mutilated, fingerprints switched with yours in the system, and tossed off a building you were just seen running into on campus. You just couldn't live with what you'd done.”

“What's the catch?”

“Living with what you've done for the rest of your life and doing it some more.”

“You fake my death and I murder people for you?” Gosh, he really should pretend this offer is less appealing to him. “And if I say no?”

“We won't have to  _ pretend _ it was you who fell off that building.” 

This is a no brainer. “Deal.”

“What should we call you now? Birth name’s no good anymore.” The man again, who's heading towards the door, talks over his shoulder. 

He can feel himself grin. “You know, I've always seen myself as a Kent.” 

“Kent. Good choice. Let's hope you live up to our expectations.” The woman gestures towards the door, and Kent stands up to exit with them.

“Wouldn't have it any other way.”

**Author's Note:**

> *takes a bow* if we're lucky and I get out of this depression funk you just might see some plot eventually. here's hoping.


End file.
